


Nice to Meet You (Again)

by Reneia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst I guess, M/M, italy's not an idiot, like all of you tend to do, rip germany again, so I didn't write him as an idiot, sorry i had to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reneia/pseuds/Reneia
Summary: Death is a strange concept for those cursed with immortality.





	Nice to Meet You (Again)

**Author's Note:**

> Historical events that I put in here are fake, as most of the fic takes place in the future.

Italy had seen the rise and fall of empires. A century or two ago, he’d personally witnessed the complete annihilation of countless African nations. Hell, he’d destroyed a few himself, despite the fact that he didn’t really want to.

The death of a nation was very different from the death of a human, he’d found. Humans lived out their lives and then flickered out of existence, like a match. Nations were candles, able to be temporarily extinguished, but also having the capacity to be re-lit, until the one day they weren’t. 

Unless a nation’s people died, the sense of unity that made a nation a  _nation_ was lost, or they were officially dissolved, shattered, destroyed… they would come back. It didn’t matter how much you stabbed them, shot them, tortured them– they would come back. If you were lucky, they wouldn’t get revenge.

But if a nation was truly destroyed, they’d wake up where they “died” with no memory of the life they lived, and create a new one, live out their brand new, limited life as a human. 

As fates went, it wasn’t particularly cruel, not to the one dying. But, like all death, it was torturous to those left behind.

Decades ago, in the middle of a meeting with Italy’s boss, Romano passed out, breaths shallow and gravelly. Italy had calmly filled a glass of sparkling water and dropped a sliced strawberry in, knowing that was what his brother preferred. He excused himself and his brother with a charming smile, lying through his teeth and explaining that their economy wasn’t doing very well lately, so this happened often. Their boss grumpily waved them off, telling them that she was well-informed, and to take care.

Italy had carried Romano back to his room on his back, signature grin gone, fluffing the pillows and tucking him into bed. Then, he pulled up a chair and anxiously waited.

Slowly, the rise and fall of Romano’s chest faded entirely.

He knew before the man woke up that Romano was gone. He felt it, somehow, in his soul. It was a slow shift, but not an unnoticeable one. Somehow, he had become the sole Italy, and his older brother was reduced to humanity. 

That didn’t mean that he didn’t have to force back a sob when Lovino blearily blinked and looked around, hazel eyes only expressing confusion, apprehension, and a touch of hostility. 

When the dark-haired man angrily asked him who he was, where they were,  _why_ they were here, Italy had stared into his narrowed eyes and burst into tears, burying his face into the covers, trying to stop for Lovino’s sake, but  _god_ it hurt so much. Only when Lovino awkwardly patted his back in an attempt to calm him down did his tears finally slow, and eventually, stop.

Italy apologized for bothering him with a shaky smile, because it was all he could come up with at the moment, and fled. He drove home as fast as he dared, taking a hand off the steering wheel every few minutes to wipe his eyes. That evening, he had called Spain and informed him through trembling vocal cords that Romano was gone. There was silence on the other end of the line for a long time, and eventually, Italy just pressed the ‘end call’ button and curled up under his blankets, not having the energy to make anything to eat.

Italy checked in on him every few years from afar. His brother (even though he was no longer a nation, he would always hold that title in Italy’s mind) got a good job, married a good man, adopted two kids, and when his new family went through rough patches, Italy always made sure they’d have enough money to live comfortably. At this point, it was all he could do, as his bosses forbade him from seeing the man who once drank with him, teased him, swore at him…

Italy wasn’t with Germany when he died. No, he was off fighting in the latest war that his new boss, a cruel and terrifying man with words of poisoned honey and honeyed poison, had started.

His new boss was a conqueror and a snake, able to drive the public into a state of bloodlust and madness with just a few words. He promised a New Rome (just like they all had, but  _they_  never saw Grandpa’s scars, the scars that he himself was starting to accumulate on his back, chest, legs, neck-), a Rome that would succeed because _Italy_  was the original Rome, yes? The Americans could try to take over their continent, the Russians could conquer Mongolia, the Stans, and spread westward, but they’d all fail eventually, because the heart of  _Italy_ is Rome, not them.

And so, through his peoples’ belief in a united continent and a complete Rome, Italy reluctantly triumphed.

His new boss sent him away to fight in the Mediterranian when he eventually took over Germany and killed him for the final time, knowing that Italy would vehemently protest. “You’ve already cut off all communication with the rest of the world,” he’d say through angry tears, “Just give me this.”

When Italy heard the news, he immediately promoted one of his soldiers to a general and flew home himself on a stolen jet, demanding with a completely unheard of and unseen fury in his eyes to see the man he once (still) loved. His boss, hiding his fear behind a thin smile, acquiesced.

His heart broke all over again when he saw the lack of recognition in the tall, blonde, handsome, broken man’s eyes. 

But when Ludwig timidly introduced himself, Italy smiled and shook his hand (”Feliciano Vargas, it’s so good to meet you!”), and swore to himself that this time, he’d stay by his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry, but I'm sorry that I'm not sorry.


End file.
